


nobody actually wants a (fucking) martyr

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Knight Wainwright, M/M, O'Laughlin's a jerk, Prince O'Laughlin, Wainwright's a knight in shining armor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10141700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: “If I did,” O’Laughlin tells him, before their gazes meet. “I wouldn’t have asked for you and only you.” Or that AU: Royalty fic that nobody asked for.





	

“I  _asked_ for Sir Wainwright,” Prince Craig O’Laughlin tells his servant, as he curls his upper lip in disgust. The servant opens his mouth and O’Laughlin withdraws his sword, already bored by  _whatever_ excuse would escape the blonde’s mouth. “Where is Sir Luther Wainwright?”

 

“Prince Craig, Sir Wainwright is…”

 

“A few minutes behind your courier, your royal highness,” Knight Wainwright interrupts the servant. O’Laughlin shifts in his throne and focuses on the brunet knight instead, who seems to be unafraid of his lip curl. “I apologize for my tardiness, sire.” O’Laughlin nods and dismisses his serf, before he beckons Wainwright closer. Wainwright abides. “I understand someone attempted to poison you, Prince Craig?”

 

Leaning forward, O’Laughlin nods. “Can you believe that someone had the  _gull_ to attempt to poison me?” Wainwright says nothing and O’Laughlin’s grimacing, because he’s an  _excellent prince, thank you very much_. “I want  _you_ to find the individual and eradicate him, Sir Wainwright.”

 

Wainwright blinks, almost nervously. “I wasn’t aware you cared about Ron that much, your highness.” O’Laughlin clenches his fists together at the insolence, but Wainwright doesn’t inch backwards. In fact, Wainwright doesn’t even seem  _bothered_.

 

“I am ordering you and your fellow knights to not rest, until I have his fucking head above my mantel.”

 

His knight doesn’t skip a beat, as he glances about the throne room. “What mantel, sir?”

 

::::

 

“You mean, he’s actually  _surprised_ someone attempted to assassinate him?” Sir Wayne Rigsby asks, as he and Wainwright are sharing a pint. “Is he not aware of the biquarterly threat to his life?” Wainwright shrugs and chugs his mead. “I mean, hell, half of his  _knights_ want to…”

 

“But they never would,” Wainwright interrupts, sharply, forcing Rigsby to glower, “because we’re  _sworn_ to protect the kingdom of Sacramento  _and_ its inhabitants, including, but not limited to the Prince himself.” Rigsby says nothing else as Wainwright stands from his seat, pulling out a handful of gold coins to scatter across the table. “My reputation with the O’Laughlin family will not be sullied by one of  _you_ committing treason.”  

 

Rigsby snorts into his pewter mug.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Rigsby replies, almost immediately, as he also stands from the table. “Well, shall we go off and protect the Prince  _again_?” Wainwright rolls his shoulders and pats his side for his newly-minted sword, because the  _last eight fucking times_ that he’s crossed paths with Prince O’Laughlin  _and_ has managed to successfully save the ass’s life, he’s almost died in the process.

 

“Let’s.”

 

::::

 

“Why would anyone want to poison Ron?” Maiden Grace Van Pelt asks of Sir Rigsby, as the two are strolling through the fields of Sacramento. Rigsby tries to keep his thoughts pure, which proves to be  _much_ harder than it seems, especially when Grace presses herself against his side. “He was such a kind-hearted individual,” Grace continues, a sob falling from her luscious lips. “If he’s dead, Wayne, what keeps the rest of us from being killed too?”

 

Rigsby grabs her small, warm hand in his. “The Knights of Sacramento, Grace.” Grace nods sniffling and Rigsby squeezes her hand. “How familiar are you, Grace, with the Prince’s wait staff?”

 

Grace doesn’t glance toward him. “We all eat meals together.”

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

“Not very well, unfortunately,” Grace admits and after a beat of silence, she continues. “Chatter from the jester, however, is that the Prince trusts few individuals, especially since Carter was devoured whole.”

 

Rigsby winces at the memory. He might have hated O’Laughlin’s adviser, but  _nobody_ (not even the Prince) deserves to be swallowed alive by a fire-breathing dragon.

 

::::

 

The moment the proclamation is uttered across the land, Wainwright visits the Prince.

 

“You might want to reconsider your proclamation,” Wainwright tells him, the moment Serf Haffner leads him into the throne room. O’Laughlin doesn’t look amused. “I ensure you, the special ingredient in Lady Teresa’s mead or  _any_ mead for that matter  _isn’t_ poison.” The Prince doesn’t laugh or scowl. O’Laughlin just sits there and Wainwright  _almost_  feels bad for the guy, until he remembers that the Prince brought this  _all_ upon himself. Politics has never been Wainwright’s forte, but he certainly knows that allying oneself with a murderous territory is  _probably_ not recommended.

 

“Luther,” the Prince’s voice finally breaks. “Why aren’t their heads on my mantle yet?”

 

Wainwright doesn’t glance at O’Laughlin. “Do you doubt my abilities, sir?”

 

“If I did,” O’Laughlin tells him, before their gazes meet. “I wouldn’t have asked for you and  _only_ you.”

 

Something swells in Wainwright’s chest, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

 

::::

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rigsby asks Sir Cho, who seems (as usual) unamused by the social exchange. “King Red John’s  _obviously_ trying to do in the Prince.” They’re in the privacy of Cho’s quarters, so Wainwright cannot guilt them into remaining honorable toward the royal family.

 

“You mean, as obvious as Prince O’Laughlin’s pining for Knight Wainwright?” Rigsby sputters for a moment at Cho’s question, spewing his illegally-obtained mead, all over the fellow knight. “Yeah. I’m not completely obtuse.”

 

“I’ve never said…” But he has. He’s known Cho  _for years_ and the two of them have gotten on well, but Cho’s never seemed to show interest in the lives of those around him. It’s probably why he’s so surprised at Cho’s notice. “How did you…?”

 

“The Prince could have inquired any knight to solve this matter, but the Prince personally requested  _Wainwright_ ,” Cho replied, as if it were obvious. Rigsby finds himself nodding. “Also. Who hand-crafts a sword, for a  _knight_ , who is simply doing his God-given duty?” Rigsby had thought  _that_ to be a little weird too. 

 

Rigsby blinks for a moment and glances at Cho afterwards, almost guiltily at the liquid clinging to him. “Sorry about spewing you with mead, man.”

 

Cho doesn’t seem bothered.

 

::::

 

Jester Patrick Jane sits across from Lady Teresa Lisbon, the twinkling of bells from his cap has her rolling her eyes.

 

“Why must you wear that thing when we meet?”

 

Jane almost looks affronted, but his eyes twinkle. “Did you expect me to show up naked,  _Lady_ Lisbon.” Lisbon scowls at her title and Jane chuckles. “I doubt the Prince would tolerate nudity in his court.”

 

“I most certainly wouldn’t tolerate nudity in my court,” Lisbon points out.

 

Jane removes his jester cap and then, his brightly-colored tunic disappears onto the floor. “Good thing you don’t  _have_ a court then, otherwise, I’d probably be thrown into The Pit for doing just that.”

 

They don’t speak much after.

 

::::

 

“I’d buy you a drink,” he hears Lorelei Martins say from behind him, after he’s finished questioning Serf Haffner. “But the Prince has banned mead from the Kingdom, alongside common sense and dignity.” He can hear the annoyance in Martins’ voice, but Wainwright doesn’t immediately say a word.

 

“Personally,” Wainwright starts dryly, after a moment (or two) of awkward silence. “I preferred the presence of Adviser Carter, but I guess I don’t have a choice. Now, do I?” He turns in time, only to see the brunet rolling her eyes. “What can I do for you, Adviser Martins?”

 

“I can only assume from your failed questioning of Serf Haffner that you, Sir Wainwright, are no closer to solving this highly troubling matter than I am?”

 

Wainwright meets her steady gaze. “As I’ve been reminded by my fellow knights, the Prince receives roughly ten death threats a week.” He shrugs at Martins. “Trust me. I’ll find the individual, only so the Prince can mount his head on the mantel.”

 

Martins blinks. “The Prince wants to do  _what_?”

 

::::

 

“I’m almost positive that Adviser Martins attempted to poison Prince O’Laughlin,” Wainwright tells Cho, after he spots the elder knight in the corridor. “I’m also positive that she attempted to seduce me.” Of course, maybe he’s exaggerating  _just_ a bit on the seduction thing – but the second to last threat on the Prince’s life had involved a coven of witches, who had been  _just_ as likely to eat him as they had been to sleep with him.

 

Cho eyes him. “Are you going to tell the Prince?”

 

“I doubt the Prince would be interested in my sexual escapades.” Cho crosses his arms against his chest. “Oh. You meant about the assassination thing.”

 

“I did.”

 

There’s an awkward pause. “…I suppose I  _should_ , but I doubt the Prince will believe me.”

 

“He will.”

 

::::

 

O’Laughlin tilts his head to stare at Wainwright.

 

“Let me get this straight,” O’Laughlin starts, interrupting Wainwright’s story of wrongdoing and witchery. “My  _Adviser_  of a fortnight, Lorelei Martins, has been attempting to kill me?” Wainwright nods and O’Laughlin says nothing, until suddenly he sighs and rubs his forehead. “Great. I’m out of  _two_ advisers in the span of two fortnights.” He glances toward the knight. “You wouldn’t be in dire need of a new position within the regime, would you?”

 

Wainwright shakes his head, before he adds, “it could be worse; you could be dead.”

 

O’Laughlin’s quiet and then, he’s grimacing. “I should have  _never_ believed her story about being ex-communicated from Red John’s kingdom.”

 

Wainwright eyes him. “You  _bought_ that?”

 

“…yes.” O’Laughlin frowns with a shrug. “The women of this Kingdom confuse me, Sir Wainwright.”

 

Wainwright can only sigh, and then he nods—as the Prince  _has_ a point. Women are confusing and in the case of Lorelei Martins, downright frightening. “As always, your highness, it’s been an honor. I’m sure we’ll cross paths next week.” Wainwright starts to leave, already pondering the  _next_ threat to unfold upon them all, when the Prince calls out to him. Wainwright turns slightly, only for O’Laughlin to kiss him—chastely on the lips. “What…I…?”

 

O’Laughlin merely smiles. “I can think of  _one_ more problem I could use a little help with,  _Sir_ Wainwright.” He side-eyes his knight.  “If you’re up for the adventure, that is.”

 

“Of course.” Wainwright simply squares his shoulders in response. “It would be a punishable offense to disobey a direct order from my Prince, after all.”


End file.
